


watching memories

by owbobmyhead



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt, Frank feels nothing, Gerard feels a lot of things, Getting Back Together, Hotels, M/M, Mikey and Ray are mentioned, Sexual Content, This hurts, Tour Bus, Touring, Unhealthy Relationships, bottom gee, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:14:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22850797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owbobmyhead/pseuds/owbobmyhead
Summary: how can you forget when you spend each day watching memories before your own eyes
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	watching memories

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted as another pair but I decided to change it to frerard

_"I don't remember."_

  
  


_..._

  
  


Gerard knew love. He had seen it's face, like the face of a friend who you haven't seen in years but can never forget. He had seen it's true colors illuminated across walls that had seen too much, but kept the secrets quiet. 

  
  


Gerard had been in love.

  
  
  


He had been so deeply in love to the point where he was drowning but wasn't even aware of it, teaching himself to breathe bubbles instead of oxygen for the sake of keeping love alive. He was dying and didn't know, didn't care, as long as the sweet thrill of love lived on. He remembered everything. The way it felt to have life living within your heart, life beyond yourself. What it felt like to have a piece of someone else's heart, not only their body, but _heart_ , being merged and melded into your own to become one. It hurt more than not, but the gentle caress of a hand could soothe it long enough to cover the reality of pain.   
  


He remembered long days that went on for what felt like weeks, days where the stress came down on shoulders like bricks and weighed him down until he was on his knees. Sweat pouring down his skin like a warm shower, and when water poured down him from the showerhead head it felt like cool rain-- skin being warmed when the curtain would be pulled back to invite another body in. He remembered sleepless nights in bunks that rattled with each hit of a pothole in the pavement, and the nights where sleep didn't come easy in hotel rooms of a city he forgot the name of. 

  
  
  


But he remembered Frank in each of those memories. He was always there.

  
  
  


In the shower, on the bus in the bunk underneath his, in hotel rooms they shared. Gerard remembered Frank when he was on his knees, looking up to see him. He was there when sweat dripped down his back, under bed sheets, on stage, running in the rain to get back on the bus after eating dinner at some shitty rest stop far too late at night. When he was tired, broken down, stressed, barely able to keep his eyes open-- Frank was there. 

  
  
  


Frank's face was the face of love. Frank's voice was the sound of love. His touch was the feeling of love. And he remembered every second, every sound, every inch of it. 

  
  
  


He saw the memory flash across his eyes every day, because he saw Frank every day. He saw the love that once lived. Each time he glanced at the other, he saw a ghost trailing right behind him. It startled him now and then, when he'd look up at Frank sitting there, right _there_ and see that flicker of the past flash right by him so fucking fast that it took his breath away. 

  
  
  


Frank didn't love Gerard anymore. For all he knew, Frank never even loved him. But that would never change the fact that Frank _was_ _love_ to Gerard-- embodied it. He didn't want to think that way, wanted to forget, but how can you forget when all you can do is remember? He remembered the look in Frank's eyes when he'd look at Gerard-- on stage when Gerard sang his heart out while jumping around like a madman and he'd glance up to see Frank smiling, looking so proud. The look he got from him in the shower, eyes holding heavy bags that were still filled to the brim and dripping with fondness and love. And damn it if it wasn't ever love, call his whole life a lie and call him crazy, but it was the closest thing to love Gerard had ever seen. It glowed at him even brighter under sheets when they got a night away, tucked under cold hotel blankets that weren't soft at all but didn't matter. When their skin brushed against skin, every inch touched and not forgotten. How could that look that was burned into his brain be anything but love?

  
  
  


Maybe he was remembering wrong, he didn't know. He didn't know how Frank was so good at acting like none of it was real as he sat across from him on the bus. The same bus where it all began. 

  
  
  


Gerard was sat at his usual spot, at the small table in the kitchen area with his legs pulled up and crossed, pen in hand that hovered over an empty sheet of paper. It was cold in the bus, it usually was, they liked keeping it cold because it was much easier to deal with. Throw on some layers, a hoodie like Gerard wore with sweats and heavy socks. He pulled his toes together and released, feeling if they were still there through the numbness. He glanced up for the first time in hours, looking at his surroundings. Mikey had excused himself to bed about a half hour ago, Ray in the back lounge watching some B rated horror movie probably passed out, and Frank sat in front of the TV with his guitar in hand.  
  


Gerard hadn't been aware of how long they had been sitting in the same space together, but now that he was he couldn't focus on anything but that. He watched with heavy eyelids as Frank's fingers worked quietly across the strings, somehow still finding enough stamina to lift his hands while Gerard could barely keep hold of the pen. He always had such strong concentration on his music when he played, and Gerard fucking hated it. Whenever he got sucked into his guitar everyone knew to leave him alone like some silent contract they all signed saying 'no one is to speak to Frank when he's playing.' Gerard doesn't remember signing it and wouldn't have if asked.

  
  
  


It was always another excuse to not talk. While Gerard was left to remember everything, Frank let his guitar, shitty TV shows, alcohol, cigarettes, and loud music fill his brain to keep the memories out. Gerard squeezed the pen before setting it down. He didn't know how much longer he could go on this way. Neither of them had spoken in weeks and it was taking a toll on everyone-- except Frank, it seemed. The fans were starting to notice, too, while they blatantly ignored each other on stage and no longer even bothered to acknowledge that the other existed.

  
  
  


Now it was quiet, distant, and grey where color once shined. 

  
  
  


Gerard blinked his eyes open before they fell shut for good for the night, and, before they fell into a fit of pins and needles, uncrossed his legs with a stretch. He exhaled and faintly wondered if he could see his own breath.

  
  
  


"'S cold in here." He spoke softly into the quiet air, scared to speak too loudly and startle the other and himself. His own voice sounded foreign to his ears. He hadn't said more than fifteen words all day, he was getting used to that. Frank didn't budge, making him wonder if he heard him at all. 

  
  
  


Until, "yeah."

  
  
  


Gerard stared at the back of the others head for a long time after that, not knowing what to say. That's the first word he's gotten out of him, aside from when he had to talk to him before shows while the band talked about gear and shit during sound check. Now, alone, it was different. 

  
  
  


"Remember when," Gerard started, voice probably too low even in the silent room, "remember when we used to keep the bus hot when we first got it? When we were scared to use the air conditioner because we were scared of going poor?"

  
  
  


More silence. It made him self conscious, wondering if he had said the words out loud or not, or if he had whispered it. But again, Frank replied, "yeah, we were stupid."

  
  
  


Gerard slid the pen and paper away from him while stretching his arms, "yeah."

  
  
  


His fingers tapped a song that he didn't know the name of onto the table and looked away from the holes he was burning into the back of Frank's head. Gerard wondered if Frank thought everything they had done in the past was stupid. 

  
  
  


"Remember when we didn't even have the bus yet?" Gerard kept going, trying for more.

  
  
  


Frank's fingers were moving slower. "That sucked, I'd rather not remember that."

  
  
  


A string in Gerard's heart was plucked. "You can't pick and choose what your memories are." 

  
  
  


"You can try."

  
  
  


A string in Gerard's heart was wearing thin. But he kept strumming it for more, more noise, more words from the other's mouth. 

  
  
  


"Remember," he swallowed thickly, "remember when me and you would share a bunk when we finally started using the air conditioner because we overdid it? When it would get so cold in here that we swore our toes would fall off?"  
  
  


Frank didn't reply to that, his fingers freezing over the strings. Gerard couldn't stop, his heart pounding, hands shaking, eyes becoming unclear. "'Member when we'd share a bunk every night after that? And we'd share hotel rooms, too? And clothes and beds and showers? When we'd do everything together? Share secrets and, and _shit--_ " he wiped his eyes with his sleeves when the realization that his mouth was still running and his eyes were running like a leaky faucet with tears.

  
  
  


Frank had set the guitar down on the floor next to him, staring at the tv that was black. Gerard heard his own breathing loud in the room for the first time, his gasps for air when his chest stuttered from the tears. He hadn't realized he had started crying that hard, or that Frank set down the guitar he was so fucking invested in that Gerard wanted to smash into a million pieces across the floor. But Frank still wouldn't look at him. Maybe because he knew he was the reason for his tears. 

  
  
  


"Don't you remember anything?" He asked, emotion coming through in the form of hurt and disbelief. He could make out the sight of Frank shaking his head slowly side to side, shoulders slumped and unmoving. 

  
  
  


"No," he began, "I don't remember."

  
  
  


The string in Gerard's heart snapped. 

  
  
  


"You're lying," the tears hit the table, "you're fucking lying."

  
  
  


Frank wouldn't turn around, he just sat there on the floor, back turned to Gerard like it always was, shutting him out like he always did. Gerard clenched his fists to stop himself from taking the pen and paper and throwing it at the back of his head, instead letting a sob escape his lips. He had held it in for too long. 

  
  
  


" _Fuck_ you, how can you just sit there and not even look at me for so long after everything? You remember, you do." His voice raised and he couldn't help it, shaky and loud probably echoing throughout the whole bus. 

  
  
  


That's the only time Frank moved to stand up and turn in his direction, "you're gonna' wake up the whole damn bus."

  
  
  


Another string broke and snapped against his lungs, making him gasp at the words. "How can you not care about any of it? You _do_ remember, you're a fucking _liar--_ "

  
  
  


Frank stepped back when Gerard stood, only to reach forward when Gerard stumbled from his legs being numb for sitting so long. He pushed Frank's hands away, wiping his eyes. He didn't want to feel his touch. "You can't look at me right now and tell me the only thing you care about is me waking everyone up. There's no way that you can look at me like _this_ ," he gestured to himself looking broken and tired, "and tell me you're not sorry."

  
  
  


"I never said I wasn't sorry, Gerard." His voice was low and Gerard couldn't decipher the way he said it, if it meant he was sorry for pushing him away, or if he was sorry any of it ever happened in the first place. 

  
  
  


Gerard ran a hand through his tangled hair and let his eyes drop to the floor, "sorry won't ever change anything. You hurt me, and that'll never change."

  
  
  


He began to walk to the bunks when Frank suddenly stopped him with a hand on his arm, tugging him to turn around. Those words must have hit something. " _Hurt you?_ Because I realized that what we were doing wasn't good for anyone? That what we were doing was going to split the band apart and ruin our lives?"

  
  
  


Gerard let his mouth fall open, eyebrows pulled together tightly. "What we were _doing?_ Frank, I _loved_ you. I wasn't just _doing_ anything. Is that all we were to you is _fucking?_ " 

  
  
  


Gerard swore he saw a tear in Frank's eye but chose to ignore it. "If I have to lie and say yes to give you some closure, then fine."

  
  
  


Gerard felt his face twist up in pain from the way his insides twisted at the words being shot at him like bullets. The tears had never stopped, but now they rained down like heavy drops over a funeral. He didn't think twice when he unclenched his fists and pushed Frank's chest hard, enough to get him to stumble back. "I don't need your lies, fucking asshole. You _love_ me, you _loved_ me and you do now and you're a _fucking_ coward."

  
  
  


His voice was far too loud now and he flinched at himself, knowing someone was bound to get up and intervene. Frank turned away from him now, and part of him wanted to turn him around and yell it right in his face but it was too late. A hand found its way to Gerard's shoulder, Mikey's voice breaking into the room.

  
  
  


"What the hell's going on?"

  
  
  


Frank still didn't move, only his head shaking in response. 

  
  
  


"How much longer until we get to the hotel?" Gerard couldn't look at Frank any longer, turning to Mikey and blocking out everything. 

  
  
  


"About half an hour," he spoke cautiously, a wary tone, "you can share a room with me, Gee."

  
  
  


He said the last part quieter, but Gerard wanted the other to hear the conversation. "No, I'll room with Frank." 

  
  
  


Mikey looked between the two in pure confusion, "I don't know what's going on but you guys better work it out. If I hear any yelling from your hotel room you're gonna' be split apart and we're all going to have a talk."

  
  
  


Gerard looked back over his shoulder at Frank who was now walking past them to the bunks. Gerard glanced at Mikey who was completely and utterly lost.   
  
  


"Okay."

  
  
  


.

  
  
  


Gerard hated who he was on the bus. Because that version of him-- ugly, crying, loud, angry Gerard-- got him into this situation. The situation being him stood in the doorway of his and Frank's hotel room, while the other made his way to one of the beds to claim as his own. He couldn't get himself to step inside, or outside. He just floated in the doorway, feeling his back touch the hard, closed door. 

  
  
  


He was watching flashbacks in the form of real life, seeing Frank in the way he used to while also seeing a different version of him in his head. He pictured him there, by the bed, smiling up at him with a quirky comment slipping off of his tongue to get him to laugh. He could hear it ring off the silent walls in his head. His eyes were met with harsh movements, bag thrown on the floor, hands scavenging through contents to pull out something else to change into after a shower.

  
  
  


He didn't know if he could handle this. Not with the tears that he felt boiling up again within himself. He felt that feeling you get before you know you're going to cry, when you can't hold it in any longer and it feels like you might scream. Like a cork trying to keep a bottle of vinegar and baking soda at bay after being shaken for hours. He took a step forward, because if he stood there any longer he might've exploded. 

  
  
  


The hotel room even looked familiar, even though there was no way they had been there in that exact one before. He didn't know where they were at all, let alone what number room they were or had stayed in before. But he guessed all hotels looked similar, with their bland walls, stark white sheets, and basic layout. Two beds, a small table between them, and a bathroom across from them. Frank headed to the bathroom, already lifting his shirt over his head. Gerard forced himself to look away. He sat heavily onto the bed. 

  
  
  


He listened to the sound of the shower as it came to life, and even though he knew it was fucking stupid to think about and it would never happen again, he thought of Frank popping his head around the door, hair a mess, shoulders bare, asking him to join him. His eyes traveled up to the closed door. It stayed closed. He tried to close off his memories but they had a mind of their own, always have. Piles of clothes on cold linoleum, bare feet on slippery porcelain, legs brushing, arms tangling, droplets of water merging, hands on skin, in hair, cheap hotel shampoo, soap in eyes, in mouths, and soft towels. 

  
  
  


Gerard fell backwards, laying with eyes cast up towards the ceiling. It was hard to forget when he could hear, see, smell his memories. Not too long later the bathroom door opened, letting out a puff of steam like smoke from the end of a cigarette. Frank stepped out with a towel low on his waist, hair hanging over his forehead in strands. He didn't want to look, he knew it was a death wish to even send a glance in the direction of the other but it was inevitable. His eyes traveled down the walls that were pale beige like sand, and were met with Frank. Frank, all of him, all of his pale skin covered in tattoos he remembered like the back of his hand, his thin legs, arms, waist, the curve of his spine, the dip at the small of his back. He pulled up a pair of black boxers and threw the towel onto a chair across the room. He turned towards Gerard to grab his shirt, and Gerard was met with the tattoos on his chest that hurt so bad to see. He could still feel the lines he traced underneath fingertips. 

  
  
  


"The bathrooms open," Frank tried to pull him back into reality, "don't fall asleep like that, you'll get cold." _Why would you care?_

  
  
  


Gerard sat up, unmoving. He just watched the other. Couldn't help it. It was late, too late to bother getting a shower, too late to be awake. 

  
  
  


"You don't have to lie. You don't have to lie anywhere, but especially not here." Gerard's voice was tired. 

  
  
  


Frank didn't shake his head in disagreement, nor did he scoff. He looked up, their eyes met. "What do you want to hear from me, Gerard. You know how I feel, why do I need to say it." It was barely a question. 

  
  
  


"Because I wanna' hear it," he shrugged, "I want to hear you say you still think of me, care about me, love me, _want_ me--"

  
  
  


"I want you." Frank's voice sounded clear, but Gerard felt like he was hearing it through two plastic cups connected by string. He almost asked to have his words repeated. 

  
  
  


"You have me, well, _had_. You let me go." 

  
  
  


"I want you back." Frank walked around the bed he claimed and stood in front of Gerard, the closest they've been since earlier when Gerard had pushed him away. He knew this was only another death wish, that this, whatever came of this, would bite him in the ass later. Because Frank wanted him for the night, that's all, he wanted to relive what he once had for one more night because he could, because he knew Gerard was desperate and willing, laying there on a bed waiting for Frank to love him again. And Frank wasn't fucking stupid, he was going to take that opportunity. Gerard wouldn't say no. 

  
  
  


They stared deeply at each other, like they hadn't seen each other in years-- they looked like strangers. Frank leaned in quickly, their lips meeting too harshly, but neither complained. Frank was moving feverishly, as if he had been waiting for this since it ended, and Gerard was moving that way because he wanted Frank to love him again. He laid back, pulling Frank on top of him by fingers digging into bare, damp shoulders. Their mouths never parted, lips brushing lips and tongues tangled in a mess that only got tied into more knots. Frank took control, like he always did, he liked to feel in charge of every situation. In bed, on stage, in relationships where he called the shots and called it off and called it whatever the fuck he wanted. Gerard was putty in his hands, was falling apart at the seams that Frank picked at until he was digging his fingers into Frank's back, spilling sounds into his mouth, moving against him. Frank took his time no matter how restless the other got. 

  
  
  


Frank's lips moved to Gerard's neck, and if he had any sanity left within him he would've stopped him when he felt bites being left on exposed skin, sucking hard. He didn't want to have to face the marks in the morning, didn't want anyone to see. He didn't say a word of it, though, as he continued his way lower until he couldn't anymore. He tugged at the hem of his shirt, to which Gerard let him take it off. He let him take it all off, let him push him up the bed until his head was pressing back against plush pillows, fingers fluctuating between crisp white sheets and digging nails into the skin of Frank's shoulders, to tugging at his hair. Let him have his way with him, however he wanted him, wherever. His fingers scrambled for purchase, body overwhelmed, mind foggy like the mirror in the bathroom after a hot shower. All he could think was Frank; his lips dragging languidly across his neck, hips moving slowly, lazily, taking his time, his hands grabbing his hips too hard.

  
  
  


He tried to take himself back into his memories, something that was always far too easy to do now seemingly impossible. He thought having Frank this way again, on him, in him, around him, would feel like old times, like a breath of fresh air after holding his breath for so long-- but it felt like drowning. He held onto him like he would fall if he let go, arms wrapped around him, pulling their heaving chests flush, burying his face into the crook of the others neck to hide there. He couldn't hide, not while so bare for the others eyes, but he could close his eyes and pretend. He could pretend to be in love again and to be loved, he could pretend that Frank was making love to him like he used to, whispering in his ear. He could pretend that he didn't start to feel tears dripping from his eyes that rolled down the others skin along with his sweat. The shower he got was pointless at this point, he wondered if Frank would ask him to join him in the shower after this. Or if he would get up and leave, go smoke and never come back. 

  
  
  


The thoughts overwhelmed him. He held on tighter and cried into his neck, hoping that the sound mixed with his moans well enough to go unnoticed. Frank loosened his grip on his hips and caressed a hand over his skin, the other moving to his hair to sift his fingers through. It was supposed to be soothing, and it was. It didn't make it not hurt, though. Frank picked up his pace, seeing that neither was willing enough to stop, but things were falling apart and needed to come to an end. The gentle hand in his hair tugged at the strands, pulling him from his hiding at the side of Frank's neck, lips connecting in a kiss of false love. Gerard tried his best to kiss back, but his lips mostly stayed open around cries that came from too many places within him to decipher. Frank kissed his lips, around his mouth, biting down on his jaw as he thrust a final time. Gerard breathed heavily through still parted lips, thanking god that he finished as well. He didn't want to have to deal with anything more, didn't want to bother Frank to have to touch him more than he has. He could tell Frank didn't want to, either. 

  
  
  


He didn't hide the cringe on his face as Frank pulled away. He didn't watch as he got up, tying the condom and throwing it in the trash next to the bed to be forgotten. He just lay there, aware at how bare he was but unable to care to cover up. Frank had seen him too many times to care, even if he felt like a stranger. He felt all movement in the room stop. 

  
  
  


"You wanna' shower?" Frank's voice was deep and tired. Usually, he'd smoke a cigarette after sex, but he knew better than to light one while on the third floor of a nice hotel. Gerard's mind flashed to a memory from another life atop an old mattress on the floor, Frank over him with a cigarette between his lips that he put out on Gerard's stomach. He still has a small scar from it. 

  
  
  


"No," his voice was shaky, "I'm too tired. 'Will in the morning."

  
  
  


He felt Frank staring at him. He could picture him nodding, silently debating which bed to get into. The light flickered off and Gerard felt a dip in the bed, his body gently being moved and placed under slightly scratchy sheets. His body felt too sensitive to everything, his mind and heart too vulnerable. Arms wrapped around him, chest to his back, eyelashes closing against the nape of his neck. As he stared into the dark room, eyelids falling closed, he knew this was the last time Frank would ever hold him. This was a memory he would look back on, and he was living it. He let himself fall asleep in Frank's arms one last time, pretending everything was like it used to be. 


End file.
